Inbetween
by Sonic Serendipity
Summary: Casey is the job. He LIKES his job. And he certainly doesn't like the irritating geek he is in charge of.


A/N Nobody writes gen fic/friendship fic for Chuck, it seems. Thus I am forced to. Oh, the humanity! XD

In my world, Casey likes Chuck; kind of like the younger brother who annoys the living daylights out of you, but who you wouldn't actually--you know--KILL IN COLD BLOOD. Ahem.

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"I don't like you, Bartowski. You know why?"

Bartowski blinked at him owlishly. "Uh, no, Casey. I can't say I do. I could guess..."

"It's because you're too nice." A small part of him added silently, it makes me feel like a bad guy. The majority of him said aloud, "It's very annoying."

"Um, okay."

Casey growled and jerked his finger at the other man. "You see! You're still being nice. And polite. Is there anyone you don't like?"

The Intersect snorted, with one of those flashes of edged humor that were so much easier to deal with than the constant...amiability. "Sure. I don't like the guy that poisoned my sister. I don't like Harry Tang. I don't like the mailman who always misdelivers my mail. I'm also none to fond of Bryce, really."

"That's what puts us at odds, right there." He held up his hands and wiggled his fingers sarcastically. "You can count the people you dislike on one hand with room to spare, and I can do the same with people I like."

"Wow, Casey, you actually like somebody?" Chuck scooted closer and clapped his hands together in sarcastic excitement. "Oh, please. Do tell who is the lucky someone."

Casey scowled at him. "My mother, thank you very much."

"Oh. Huh." Bartowski sat back and linked his fingers behind his head thoughtfully. "Funny. I never thought of you having a mother." Perhaps he sensed and oncoming storm, because he continued hastily, "I guess I just always pictured you as being carved out of something rock-like and craggy. Or maybe grown in a sac underground, like Saruman's Uruk Hai." Casey gave him a growl--number three, with added steely glint--and the geek subsided, muttering something to himself.

John Casey tried to settle back into his previous quiet, but something was nagging at him. He decided to ponder it as they waited for the call.

His mother, yeah. And he was still fairly fond of the old geezer who had sold him his Crown Vic. But why did he mentally think there was only one spare finger on the Hand of Liking? Okay, maybe he was actually somewhat alright with his current 'partner'. Quote unquote. Possibly he didn't dislike her enough to put her, technically, on his good side. When she wasn't being as annoying as only females and analysts managed to be.

He didn't like anyone else, did he?

The Nerd Herder had finally stopped fidgeting, and Casey eyed him. "We should probably get you some basic firearms training," he said, apropos of nothing.

"What?" Chuck squeaked. God, was the squeaking annoying.

"Listen, I know you well enough to figure out that some time you are going to pick up a gun in a futile and last-ditch attempt to protect yourself, or your sister, or God forbid--me." Bartowski visibly tried to figure out if there was a compliment in there somewhere, but Casey continued dryly: "And probably shoot yourself in the foot, or worse."

"Hey! I've done some...first person shooters. That should help a little, right? Like with the helicopter?"

Casey snorted and gave him a look of inpenetrable condescension. "Video games don't have recoil. Or actual bullets flying. Or your target screaming and splattering warm wet blood all over--"

"Okay!" Chuck flung up his hands and waved them wildly. He was a little pale. "Okay, I get it. Gun dangerous, not a toy. Chuck is not a real secret agent. Got it."

"Good." Casey didn't feel the need to speak any further, but of course the other man cleared his throat after just a few seconds.

"Um, just out of idle curiosity; now that we have firmly established my lack of any skill with firearms, and your firm dislike of me, how do I know you won't..." he smiled wryly. "Shoot me when you get frustrated?"

"You're too valuable to kill."

Chuck laughed. "Thank you. Gosh, wow...umm...how do I know you won't shoot me somewhere survivable like the shoulder or something?" He frowned. "Isn't the shoulder where you shoot someone if you don't want to kill them?"

"If you can avoid a major artery, sure." Chuck looked like he would accept that, reluctantly. He usually would have left it there, but some unknown impulse had the agent offering gruffly, "I can be very patient."

Bartowski carefully ignored the beautifully cared-for bonsai trees placed at intervals throughout the room. "Yeah. I guess so."

Okay. So he has his moments of tact. Doesn't mean I have to like him.

He pictured how the kid would look when he eventually had to kill him, puppy-like brown eyes widening at the betrayal more than the impending death.

Nope. Because I don't like him. Not a bit.

Casey snorted softly to himself.

Keep telling yourself that, agent.

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A/N I live for reviews. Feed the starving author?


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